Two Inches Tall
by TheWorldIsACesspoolOfImbeciles
Summary: Young, two-inch Ida lives in the flowers and is discovered by a very freckle-y boy. Or: In which John Laurens discovers a tiny figure wandering the land of New York, turning his somewhat normal life upside down. Just as strange as it sounds—read and review! This is rated T for some suggestive content.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings! This story was born when my friend Rainlight2427 and I had the weirdest conversation about tiny people and the Revolutionary war. Consequently, the two of us wrote up this chapter with a little help from her sister Catbludger3903. It's a tiny bit strange, but, oh well. Enjoy. And I also do not any part of Hamilton the musical :(**

* * *

 _One Inch Tall_

 _If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school._  
 _The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool._  
 _A crumb of cake would be a feast_  
 _And last you seven days at least,_  
 _A flea would be a frightening beast_  
 _If you were one inch tall._

 _If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,_  
 _And it would take about a month to get down to the store._  
 _A bit of fluff would be your bed,_  
 _You'd swing upon a spider's thread,_  
 _And wear a thimble on your head_  
 _If you were one inch tall._

 _You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum._  
 _You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb._  
 _You'd run from people's feet in fright,_  
 _To move a pen would take all night,_  
 _(This poem took fourteen years to write-_  
 _'Cause I'm just one inch_ _tall)._

 _-Shel Silverstein_

* * *

 _Have you ever been really short? If the answer is yes, multiply that experience by a thousand. Really. No, I'm not joking. Do it. Ready? Okay, now open your eyes and imagine living in that world._

 _If you have successfully accomplished this, you should see hordes of giant black stamping things. These are what are commonly known as shoes. See what I'm getting at? Being small is not a good thing. I'm talking to you, tall people who whine about how tall they are. The lack of height is not a fun experience. At all. So, ignore all those idiots who think they know what it's like and go on how great it is to be tiny. They're either tall and romanticizing everything, or they're lying._

 _Now, let me tell you of these tiny people (Person, really. She is one of a kind, as far as we know.)_

* * *

1776

A tiny figure appeared at the edge of a small plant. Ida scrambled up the stalk of a flower. A wasp whisked by and she let out a little shriek and fell backwards.

"Oof!"

For her lack of size, she could make a lot of noise.

"No! Go away, you stupid, zippy bug! Don't you have someone else to scare?" The offending insect ignored her. She humphed.

Ida started forward, instantly tripped, and fell backwards.

"Aaah!"

She continued to fall through the air to the ground which seemed to be about eighteen inches away, a large distance if you are about two inches tall (which, in case you haven't noticed, she was).

There was another yell, this time, from someone else.

 _Uh-oh_. No one had discovered her in all of the three days she had existed (Well, except that one time when a bunch of school children had found Ida playing, demanded a wish from "the fairy", and proceeded to shake the living daylights out of her. Needless to say, after Her ordeal, Ida wasn't particularly keen on fairies.).

"AAAAAARRRGHHH!"

It was a slightly masculine voice, Ida mused as she fell on his boot. Then she realized her situation and sat up, ready to make a run for it if the need arose. Suddenly, a hand swooped out of nowhere and Ida found herself flying up in the air a good few feet away from the ground. Trembling, Ida looked up into a freckled face that appeared to be connected to the hand that clutched her tightly.

"Wha...?" his mouth fell slightly open as he examined his prize. "What _are_ you?"

 _Play dead,_ said a voice in her head.

 _Why?_ asked another. _Maybe it's friendly..._

The other voice scoffed. _I'm sure you'll be telling that to yourself as it cooks you over a fire and seasons you with salt and pepper._

 _Seasoning? What's that?_

 _Nothing_ you _need to know, dummy!_

 _Aren't we the same person?_

 _Oh, shut up._

The other voice in her head recoiled slightly. _That's not very nice!_

Her captor interrupted her train of thought. "Are you...well...Are you a fairy?"

Oh _no._ Not _again_.

Ida carefully considered her answer. If truth be told, she had absolutely no idea what she was. No one else like her seemed to exist. Well, honesty _was_ a good policy.

"I dunno."

He regarded her mournfully. "I don't suppose you know a good inn around here, do you?"

"Uhh...no?"

The boy sighed. "Well, I guess I could take you along," he said reluctantly, "but you need to be potty-trained. I am _not_ taking along someone who needs help going to the bathroom."

Ida gaped indignantly. Of all the rude things! "Of _course_ I'm potty-trained, you disgusting twit. Some people have no discretion." She muttered the last part to herself.

"I...I guess you're coming along, then."

"When did I agree to that?"

"Do you even have anywhere to go? I bet that you don't even have a home."

Ida gasped automatically. "I do, too! I live in the flowers."

"That cannot possibly count!"

"Does too!"

"Does not! And besides, you probably don't even have anybody to help you. You'll be stomped on or eaten by a rat or something if you keep living like this. Someone meaner than me might find you!"

Ida huffed. Rats _were_ scary if they were bigger than you. "Oh, alright. But you need to tell me your name, first."

He flashed his most charming grin. "John Laurens, preferably in the place to be, with two—"

"Right," said Ida, cutting him off, "I am Beatrice Adelaide Louisa, long-lost princess of the fairy kingdom of Tir Nan Og, most delicate and wisest of all of the little peoples, hero of all lost little bunny rabbits."

John Laurens cocked an eyebrow at her. "Are you really?"

"Umm, yes?"

He pinned her with a glare.

"Fine! Mine name's Ida and you're a—a—a meanie!"

Laurens shrugged and stuck her in his pocket.

"HEY! Let me out! This is precisely why you've been judged a meanie!" Her tirade went on for about ten minutes, until he shushed her.

"You're gonna have to be quiet now, okay? We're getting close to the city."

"What city?"

Laurens thought fast. "It's a magical place called New York city. Unfortunately, it's also crawling with the most horrifying, rigid enforcers of the British government. They also resemble lobsters."

"They do?" asked Ida, understandably frightened by the image.

"Yep. They also carry gun-swords called bayonets. They are used to kill people right and left, because they listen to the king, the evil terrible king, who sits on a throne of lies and takes people's money, _on purpose_ _._ " He widened his eyes for emphasis.

"Is the king going to eat me?" she shivered slightly. "Is he a monster?"

"He might eat little girls, because you're right: he _is_ a monster."

She gasped. " _NO."_

He nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, he would. That evil, son of a—"

A British officer cut him off by asking for his permit to the city, unknowingly saving a young girl from profanities.

The two entered the city. Ida was duly impressed by it size, and told him so.

Laurens only grinned and said, "Welcome to New York city."

* * *

 **So, what'd you think? Good? Bad? Leave it in the comments! One more thing: Rainlight2427 insisted on putting the Elf references in. I don't own those either...**

 **If you are interested in more tiny-people stories, Catbludger3903 might post one in the Turn (a television show set also in the Revolutionary war about Washington's spies. It's actually really good.) fanfiction archive.**

 **See ya!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys! So, there is some minor inappropriate (and suggestive) content at the end of this chapter, but nothing too explicit, so just a heads up. Enjoy!**

 **Note: I do not own Hamilton or any of its people. Just Ida. :(**

* * *

 _1776_ , _New York City_

A little girl, fairy-like in her proportions, climbed onto a young man's chest. He, being asleep, woke up with a start, and let out a yelp and a curse.

"What the fu—"

"AARGHH, NOOO! BLEEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP! BAD WORD, BAD WORD!" shrieked Ida, waving her arms like the little maniac she was.

"SHUT UP!" roared Laurens angrily. "Just let me sleep in peace! Please!"

She was not compliant. "Nope! I wanna see New York! I wanna plaaay! I wanna kill the bad lobsters and eat 'em with butter! I wann—"

"Okay, okay..." grumbled Laurens groggily, rubbing his sleep-encrusted eyes. Maybe she would be calmer when he woke up...

* * *

 _Half an hour later:_

How does a tiny, fairy-like, cricket of a girl, go on and on growing to be more of a nuisance; watch this obnoxious, deluded, loudmouth bothe—

Laurens' train of thought was rudely interrupted by the aforementioned cricket of a girl.

"C'mon! C'mon! We gotta go, gotta get your job done!" cried Ida, laughing.

"Ida, I don't have a job," said Laurens brightly. "I'mma go...somewhere..." he said as an idea occurred to him. "Yeah, I'll be back."

"Soon?" implored Ida, who really, _really,_ wanted to see New York.

"I'll be back before you know I'm gone," he promised.

"Y'sure?"

"Yep."

"Promise?"

"I _promise._ "

"Can I come?"

He thought for a minute. Why not? "Fine, but you have to stay in my pocket, understand? We don't want you getting lost, right?"

"Right!"

"Promise?"

"I promise, I promise!"

"Alright, then!" he offered her his coat pocket, which she accepted graciously.

* * *

"A bar, a tavern, a pub... A bar, a tavern, a pub...A bar, a tavern, a pub..." muttered Laurens to himself. "Where can I find a bar, a tavern, or a pub?"

Something caught his eye. It was a sign that read: FRAUNCES TAVERN - FOOD, DRINK, & ENTERTAINMENT

The _i_ in "entertainment" was slightly squashed and out of place, as if the painter had forgotten to add it in at first. Nevertheless, it intrigued him; what was their entertainment? Laurens, conveniently forgetting about the little girl in his pocket, decided to take a chance and entered the dilapidated old building.

The pungent odor of old alcohol filled his nose and permeated his clothing to his pocket, where a small lump twitched. Ida poked her head out and wrinkled her nose.

"What's that smell?" she asked, a little disgusted.

"Nothing you need to know," replied Laurens, hurriedly pushing her back into his pocket.

A few scantily clad women occupied a corner. One led a man away to a room. Ida tutted disapprovingly and Laurens pushed her back into his pocket once more.

He made his way to the counter and ordered a pint of Sam Adams.

"Would you like entertainment with that?" asked the bartender, a man who looked like he had not discovered the blessing of soap.

Entertainment? "Errmm...Okay?"

The bartender grinned; Laurens gulped. What had he gotten himself into?

* * *

Ida let out the tiniest of yelps as the coat pocket that she was occupying hit the ground with a faint thud. What was happening? What was Laurens doing? She began wriggling out of the prison of fabric.

There were a few strange, soft noises (that were, by the way, increasing slowly in volume) and Ida poked her head up finally, just in time to see Laurens roll onto a bed with a woman. What were they doing?

The voices in Ida head came back.

 _But he said not to leave..._

 _He is being attacked by a scary lady!_

 _But what if he gets mad?_

 _Well, I think he might be willing to overlook that fact if we SAVE HIS LIFE!_

 _But—but—_

 _No! What if he dies?_

 _FINE._ The first voice laughed in triumph and the second one shuddered.

 _What should we do? How should our rescue plan work?_ asked Ida curiously.

 _So this is what we'll do..._ began the second voice in her head.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey, haven't updated for a while...As always, thank you so much for reviewing, favoriting, and following. For those of you worrying about the new character, don't worry, I don't think she'll play a huge part of the story. Then again, I play this story by ear, so if you want anything changed, just review or shoot me a PM, and I'll definitely take it into consideration. I _always_ listen to you guys' reviews/PM's, and I'm sorry if I haven't yet responded to your review, don't be offended, I'll do it soon!**

 **I'm also considering responding to reviews in the author notes; that way I can talk to guests...I dunno. Anyway, happy reading!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hamilton, the musical nor the person. :(**

* * *

John Laurens stormed out of the tavern, bedraggled and angry, snatching some tiny thing—I mean, person—off the table.

"But—but I saved you! I saved you from the bad lady!" Ida wasn't sure how she knew, but everyone always said to never, _never_ let anyone touch your privates.

"You are _not_ coming back," grumbled John.

"But why? She was a bad lady!"

"No, she wasn't!"

Ida was aghast at the very notion. "Y'mean...you wanted her to?"

John was evasively silent.

She stared.

And stared.

And stared.

"Is...is that why you paid her? To touch your—" she shuddered, "—privates?"

He spluttered, red-faced. "No! Who _do_ such a thing? Not _me_ , obviously!"

"...Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Positive?"

"Positive."

"Then why'd you pay her?"

"Well—because—um, I was, uh...being nice?"

Silence.

"Ah," nodded Ida.

The Lady (the one that attacked him!) ran up John. "Sir, you can stay! I—"

Ida, who had been hastily stuffed into an unventilated pocket, squirming, succeeding in giving a muffled, "No!"

John spun around. "I'm sorry!" he blurted out, before striding forth. "Maybe some other time!"

The girl hurried forward, snatching at his sleeve. "Please, sir! Just—it's—"

"I really gotta go!"

She looked desperate. "Please! My sister is dying! We need this money!"

"Alright, alright! Here's some money!" John pulled out a crumpled wad of paper, and thrust it toward her.

She peeled it apart, and a little girl fell out of it. All three of them froze.

* * *

"So, you've adopted this...fairy—"

"—Please, not a fairy—"

She carried on, undeterred, "—and now she follows you around?"

"Yep," said Ida. "What's _your_ name?"

The not-so-bad Lady hesitated. "Virginia Ash."

John snorted in-elegantly. "Your name is Virginia? But you—"

Virginia sighed. "Please don't make that joke. I've heard it hundreds of time already."

"Is your sister _really_ dying?" inquired Ida.

"Nope," answered Virginia cheerfully, completely unabashed. "Already dead." She saw John's look. "What?"

They were sprawled out in the room that John had rented out, Ida perched on the edge of the table, legs dangling, John on the green(-ish) rag rug beside the table, and Virginia sitting on the unmade bed.

"Lying to people is a bad habit," said Ida, wagging her finger reprovingly.

"What she said," huffed John.

Virginia sat upright. "Look, I need to eat and sleep, same as anyone! No one's gonna hire a woman to do their jobs; I wasn't trained for anything like that! I'm not a butcher or a fisherman! Besides, no one would buy stiff from a woman!" Her green eyes took on a harder edge. "I would rather rent out my body than enslave myself through marriage." She spat the last word like a curse. "Prostitute though I may be, I still need to survive!"

Silence, and the two others stared.

"What's a prossitute?" asked Ida.

"Pros _-ti-_ tute," John corrected her. "And it's nothing you need to worry about."

"But what is it?"

"Nothing. A bad thing."

Ida rounded on Virginia. "Then why're you a prossitute?"

Thankfully, John intervened. "Bedtime! Go to sleep! Take a bath! Go to sleep!"

"Awww, I hate baths..." said Ida, as he filled a teacup with warm water.

"Get in."

"Yeesh, put up a screen or something, will ya?" snapped Ida.

He pushed her (and the teacup) into an unlit lantern, and covered it with a handkerchief. Ida let out a strangled scream as the pieces of light that shone through the iron-wrought lantern wall were abruptly muted. All was dark.

"HELP, I'M BLIND!"

"Oh, for the love of—" began John. Virginia intervened by lighting a candle in the lantern and partially uncovering the cloth.

* * *

It was late at night, the moon was high, and the two full-sized humans were still talking with each other. A snore emanated from the lantern.

"...We forgot to put her to sleep, didn't we?" whispered John.

Virginia grimaced. "Yep."

"Will you dry her off and get her dressed?"

She nearly choked. "How do _you_ normally do it?"

" _Normally_ , she doesn't fall asleep in the bath. So, will you?"

"...Fine." Gently, the girl picked up Ida, gingerly patting her dry and haphazardly dropped her into a doll-sized nightgown (an old, orphan sock with armholes and a neck-hole). "Where do I put her?"

John yawned, and gestured vaguely in the direction of the table. "Just drop her in the matchbox. The one with the pincushion in it. Oh, and she used this as a blanket last night." He produced a scrap of blue fabric, which upon close inspection, appeared to be a scrap torn from his coat.

She tucked Ida in. "She's still asleep."

"Right. That's good." Virginia started to the door. He opened it for her. "Aaand good night to _you._ "

"Good night, John." She paused, and made no movement to exit.

He scratched the back of his head. John had little to no experience with prostitutes, and wondered where they slept at night. He hurriedly brushed the thought away. She was not allowed to guilt-trip him, he would not tolerate such actions—

Out of its own accord, John heard his voice saying, "I—I suppose you could stay the night if you have no where else to sleep." Since when had his voice become so high-pitched?

She looked into his eyes, grinning. "I'd love to."

"Not like that!" he blurted out. "I mean, you can have the floor, and I'll get the bed, got it? And no robbing from me, no attempts to seduce me, nothing like that, you hear? This is an act of pity: I get the bed and you get the floor." Just as long as his conscience didn't crack again.

"Alright."

* * *

Ida poked her head up, over the edge of the matchbox. The fools had fallen for her fake-sleep gig, and she had heard every word. A little disgruntled over the lack of any confessions of secret love, she nevertheless wanted to see their current state. Maybe they were cuddling. Suppressing a squeal, Ida took a peek and sat back down in disappointment.

John was snoring on the rug on the ground, kept warm by his coat, while Virginia had curled up under the covers of the bed.

Maybe they'd cuddle next time, with a little help from Ida, she decided.

* * *

 **So much fluff! All the fluff! Don't worry, I'm planning on an actual plot...just need to plan it out. Seriously, if you have an idea for the plot, PM or review. Like, I'm begging here. Please?**

 **As always, review! This fic needs a little more love.**


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